


Left Off

by strikeyourcolors



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Abortion, Bodily Functions, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, F/M, Female-Centric, Gen, Medical Procedures, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-29 23:23:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12095706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikeyourcolors/pseuds/strikeyourcolors
Summary: An unplanned pregnancy leads to a decision. Sometimes the choice really is that cut and dry, but  getting to the ultimate outcome isn't so simple.





	Left Off

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt that was given to me ages ago. I never had any real concrete ideas for it until I suddenly did, and a surprisingly long fic emerged. It's not my usual writing subject or style and is a bit heavy for my usual stuff, as a warning! All that said, apparently I had more to write about on the topic than I initially thought I did. I've hopefully tagged appropriately and actually hesitate a little to post this. But, well, it's written so here we are.

It's not uncommon for her period to be late. 

It's always been something not even birth control pills could tame. Landing in a wheelchair hasn't changed that at all. If anything, it's made her less aware of the timing. Less able to feel subtle cramps and changes. The pills give her some control over it and she finds ways to manipulate the pills to time things to her own liking. 

She's shelving books when she thinks of it. The corner of a new and particularly sharp research volume slides down, bumps against her chest in a way that resonates pain even through her shirt and the slight padding of her bra. Nothing she hasn't dealt with before; the heavy ache and tenderness in her breasts that heralds the start of her menstrual cycle has been present for a week now. Like always. 

But no period. 

She's just tired. Under stress. That's the reason she found herself out of bed last night, convinced she needed to eat the saltiest thing in her kitchen. Stress is why, at 2AM, she was sitting there cramming potato chips into her mouth, washing them down with milk with ice cubes in it (because it hadn't been cold enough) and staring at her legs where she swears she feels tingles of sensation sometimes. 

Barbara buys a pregnancy test anyway. It's just a feeling, and she's survived this long by trusting her intuition. She might as well; she has to pick up a few things from the store and they are right there. It's better to know. It's not first thing in the morning, so she buys a bottle of water too and sips it on the way back to her apartment. She sets a timer to make sure she hasn't peed in two hours before she takes the test. She's going to do this as correctly as possible; she can't let any doubts linger. 

She shouldn't, but she watches the test as she lays it flat. She watches wetness spread inside it, across the viewing window. The lines appear nearly instantly. Two lines. Two damning, pink lines. The stronger and more solid control line and beside it, faint but unmistakable, the line for a positive. Pregnant. Damn it. 

The rate of false positives is basically negligible and Barbara isn't stupid enough to think she might fall into that category. She's a fertile woman and she's had sex and pregnancy is sometimes the outcome of that. Two pills. She skipped two pills. She remembers it suddenly, staring at the blister pack that is off by two weekdays. She skipped one pill on Tuesday, and another on Friday. She was saving the pills to take at the end of her cycle; she has a wedding to go to and doesn't want to deal with the necessities of menstruation at it. She's done it before, multiple times before, and never any issue until now.

Two pills. Two lines. What a mistake. 

It all seems so trivial, suddenly. She's patrolled Gotham with breaks to swap out hygiene products. A wedding should be a no brainer. She's gotten spoiled in some ways, being Oracle. She's gotten soft.

She even knows when her accident happened.  A semi-long distance relationship with Dick Grayson means they sometimes don't see a lot of one another and it's been one of those months. The last time he was in town? Eleven days ago. He's called her about it. Teased her about it. He's coming over tonight because it's Friday and eleven days without seeing her is just too much, according to him.  The time she was with him before that was nearly fifteen days before. Twenty six days. Far too early for her to have gotten pregnant.

Timing is everything. She's relieved he's already on his way, if she's honest. Timing is everything. She's irrationally angry at how perfectly the stars had to line up for this to be an issue at all. The perfect day. The perfect missed pill. The perfect sperm and the perfect egg and now she's pregnant. Eleven days pregnant. Perfect.

When Barbara thinks of people to call, there's really no one. She's not excited. She's not even horribly upset. A cold, empty practicality has settled into her soul the same as when she's Oracle on a rough and haunting night. Someone has to make the callous decisions. She doesn't want this blemish on her name, this idea that someone so untouchable can mess up something so basic. She tries to think of life with a baby. She tries to relive those teenage fantasies of becoming Mrs. Richard Grayson. She can't. She hasn't been able to fall into that in years, when she realized how imperfect the world around them truly was. She imagines a little girl with dark hair and green eyes. She imagines a boy with red hair like her father has. She feels nothing for either one, just a kind of cold dread settling in her stomach. 

One of the underestimated, frustrating parts of being in a wheelchair is the inability to pace. She can roll back and forth. She can fidget. But to actually expend anxious energy? She needs to be out of the chair. She rolls into her home gym, launches herself at the bars bolted into her wall and she scales them with a vengeance. She scrambles across the metal bars. She flips. She works up a sweat and tries to evaluate her choices. She might want a kid or two. Maybe. One day. But not today. Even not raising it, it's a year of more hospitals and more tests. Of high-risks thanks to the bullet that hit her spine. Of, if she's brutally and disgustingly honest, a ruined body that might need more surgeries to fix. 

She knows what she wants to do. She's always known. 

She drops onto a mat on the floor, pulling her chair close to grab her phone out of a pocket in the side. She calls Dick, because who else would she call in this situation. "Hey beautiful," He greets and she's glad he's in the car and not on his bike. "What's up?"

Barbara stares at the ceiling. At the water stain on the ceiling from where the kids of her upstairs neighbor stuffed their socks down the toilet and flushed until water overflowed and then turned on the bathtub for good measure. "Are you somewhere you can pull over? I have to tell you something."

The drop in his easy-going act is obvious, even in speech. "What is it, Babs? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," She assures him because wrong in their world is Poison Ivy's vines crawling into your house or the Joker showing up at the door with a gun. "Nothing, Dick. It's just." She sucks in a breath. She imagines all the beautiful, happy ways she could be saying this. The ways she should be saying this. Pregnant for the first time. "I'm pregnant."

He says nothing at first. She hears him take a breath and slowly release it. "Okay," Dick responds. Then he repeats, "Okay. Are you sure?"

"Took a test," She confirms. "No chance of false positives here and there are symptoms. It's the real deal." Her heart is crawling into her throat, trying to escape. She wants to vomit. She wants to purge those potato chips and that ice cold milk from her system even though they are long ago digested. 

"Okay," He says again and she wishes he would stop because nothing about this is okay. "Shit.” Which is more appropriate and along the lines of what she's thinking. “Wow. That's. Shit.” 

“Yeah.” Her laughter is a nervous titter without her meaning for it to be. She rakes a hand over her hair, smartly tied back in a ponytail. She waits for admonishment. For scolding. For anything. 

There's only the sound of the road on the other end for a full half minute. “I'll support you,” Dick says. She wonders if he's ever thought over this before, and decided what he would do in this position. “Whatever you want to do? I'll be there." 

She knows that. And she knows what she wants to do. She's always known, even if she hasn't given it voice. "I don't want it," Barbara murmurs and feels like the worst person in the world in that moment. "I don't want to have it," She clarifies because there's really no room for euphemisms or polite language in a situation like this. 

He releases another slow breath. "I'll be there in an hour." 

"Okay," Barbara answers and, damn it, she's doing it too. "See you then. Drive safely." She needs a shower before he gets here. She needs some phone numbers and to do some research. The great Oracle of Gotham is going to be prepared to dig herself out of the mess she's found herself in.

~*~*~

"They can fit me in tomorrow if I'm there by ten." It's actually been a rather normal, if tense evening. Dick runs to the all-night diner and gets them dinner. They eat in relative quiet. There's a comment about the onion rings being good, a round of laughter that the milkshakes are too thick for a straw. "I'm not even two weeks pregnant. I can do the medical instead of the surgical."

She'd had to call a few clinics to find somewhere close enough with an opening for a paraplegic. Handicap-accessible abortion clinics aren't really a prominent market. There's a rage building inside her, surrounded by a shell of fear. How easy would it have been to call her gynecologist? To explain what she'd done and what she'd needed and to know where she was going and who was going to be providing care to her? But of course it's not that easy. Of course it's illegal. 

Which leads her to the thought of doing it herself. They probably can access the drugs easily enough. But, if she's honest, that's a little frightening too. She doesn't medicate herself often and she's not used to her body now. She's not used to dosages or balancing those just yet, which should be totally evidenced by how effective the birth control pills have been. 

Dick strokes her hair, doing his best to be comforting. He hovers, he overcompensates, and she tries to remember he means well when he's overbearing. They're on the couch, his arms wrapped around her and there was a time when nothing in the world made her feel as safe as that did. "Are you sure that you want to do that?" He asks mildly. "Have an abortion? And you know I'd support you even if you didn't? Money's no issue and I'd move closer...or move you with me..." 

She cuts him off. "But do you support me doing it?" Barbara counters because that's important to know too. She's been taking this as all her choice, but he has to have an opinion. And she has to listen because she asked. "Are you okay with me if I abort your kid? You're not going to regret this years later and think what might have been and hate me?" 

He doesn't flinch at her blunt words. She gives him credit for that. "No, Babs. I could never hate you." He pauses. "To be honest since you're sure?" He's obviously waiting for permission so she nods against him. "I don't want to keep it either. I mean, it's all on you because it's your body. But I don't really want to be a dad right now. Is that selfish?"

Barbara rests her head over his heart and shuts her eyes."No more selfish than I am. But from the minute I took the test? I just knew. I just had this feeling. Not this baby. Not this time." 

At least they're united on their opinion. It could be so much worse. Barbara reads off the name of the clinic for Dick to look up and she researches as much as she can, trying simultaneously to imagine undergoing the procedure herself and not thinking too hard on the appointment itself. It's another star in alignment that tomorrow is Saturday and she can get an appointment. 

Dick holds her that night and they just cuddle in a kind of innocent way that reminds her again of her youth. His hands stroke her back and down her sides, and they stay away from her stomach like it might upset them both. It's in the predawn hours she gets up to vomit. She's not sure if it's morning sickness or nerves. Dick pads into the bathroom after her a few minutes later and silently hands her a glass of water to rinse out her mouth. "By ten," He says. "So we'll leave at seven." It's a two hour drive. She can nap in the car. 

By mutual agreement they decide not to tell anyone. Barbara hates that too, hates the stigma that has them deciding they won't tell family or friends. It's none of their business anyway, but she knows both of them are texting excuses about a day of adventure out of Gotham instead of the truth. She wonders why she's so concerned about her father finding out, about Bruce, about anyone but Dick. 

Barbara doesn't nap in the car. She thinks about putting a carseat there. She imagines that they are going to the zoo for a day trip. She can't conjure any cute image that makes her doubt herself, and it's somehow comforting. Maybe one day, she thinks again, as she looks at Dick. Maybe even with him. Just not now. 

She forces her tone to be light. They talk about nothing important and he rests his hand on her thigh while she chokes down some crackers because she knows she really will be sick otherwise if she has to do this with nothing in her stomach. 

They have to pass protesters to get in the door, but there aren't many. Dick has to physically lift her wheelchair through the door and they have to move chairs in the waiting room to make space. She fills out her forms. Dick takes care of the bill. Six hundred dollars. More if she changes her mind and wants surgical, and she'll have to come back later. Barbara knows she should feel lucky that they have access to that cash. To reliable transportation. That she has a loving, supportive partner by her side. But it reminds her as well that if she made another choice, their baby would be very loved and very provided for. Another reason she can call herself selfish. 

No one makes eye contact in the waiting room. It's almost relief when they call her back. Dick rises to go with her and the nurse's hand strays toward a security button. "You have to wait here," She informs him. 

Dick frowns. "Your thresholds are too high. She can't get the chair over them." 

"You can't come back here, sir," The nurse repeats. Her voice is raised. Barbara feels a headache coming on. 

"Just let him lift the chair over. Then he'll go back and sit down." She could probably manage it herself, but not without a lot of effort. Not without embarrassing herself in front of the waiting room. She has some upper arm strength but there's no graceful way to throw your body weight repeatedly forward. The nurse gives a short nod, so Dick lifts the chair to get her through the door into the actual medical part of the clinic. His fingers brush against the side of her face. 

"I'll be here," He tells her, resuming his seat. He picks up a battered magazine. She doesn't even know how long it's going to be. 

~*~*~

The nurse hands her a cup and asks her to pee in it "if she can manage that" but Barbara only rolls her eyes and stretches up when she's done to leave the cup in the little window provided for that purpose. They take blood because she doesn't have any proof of her Rh factor. There's a video to watch next, and she's the only person in the room clearly designed for more. 

"Mostly surgical today," A different, more cheerful assistant informs her. "Let me know if you have questions." 

She doesn't have any. She knows everything the video informs her of and more. She knows when to take the pills. She knows the drug names. She knows it will cause an abortion. She knows she needs to seek medical care if she experiences any unnerving results. 

After the video, she's herded into a tiny ultrasound room. The same nice medical assistant helps her onto the table. "It's the lowest we've got," She says apologetically. "Do you need rails or anything?" And Barbara shakes her head a negative before an older woman peeks into the room. "Your counselor," The assistant explains. 

"Elizabeth Green," The woman greets her. They shake hands and it's the most human Barbara has felt all day. "I'm just going to ask you some questions and then for your signature. Please give a verbal response to the questions; I can't accept a head shake or a shrug." 

"Of course," Barbara replies back, because that feels expected. 

"Have you come here of your own free will today?"

"Yes." 

"Are you seeking an abortion of your own free will?"

"Yes." 

"You've been notified of the risks associated with this procedure and you understand them?"

"Yes." 

"You know you must go to a hospital or seek immediate medical care should you experience complications?"

"Yes." 

Elizabeth Green looks up and smiles at her before sliding her the clipboard with the release form on it, awaiting her signature. "It was a pleasure meeting you Ms. Gordon. I wish you good luck and a speedy recovery." 

It almost makes her cry. The medical assistant signs off as a witness. "Pull your shirt up. We have to do an ultrasound. Legally." And Barbara squirms but manages easily enough. The gel is cold. The screen is tipped away from her and the woman moving the wand over her flat, tender stomach frowns. "I can't get a clear picture this way. You're going to have to take off your pants." 

"What?" Barbara asks, entirely confused. 

"We have to have a clear picture to prove gestational age," She explains patiently. "You're too early to get a good picture this way. I'm going to have to do an internal. Sorry."

It's just her job. Barbara feels awkward anyway, struggling out of her pants. She's grimly amused to see the assistant putting a condom over the ultrasound wand. How many girls were wishing they'd done that to something else? 

It's a vague sensation. Pressure and slickness and something moving around. "You're really, really early," The assistant tells her and there's no indication if that's positive or negative. "But I think I've got a shot I can use. We'll move you into an exam room." 

Back up. Pants back on. She transfers to the chair easily and glances at the ultrasound screen, frozen in place. A little blip of a thing. A little bean in the grayness of her womb. She knows the fetus is not even the size of a fingernail. She knows it doesn't have a heartbeat, even. Not yet. It's still something fascinating, to know that it is inside her. To know something so small could grow an entire human. 

The tech turns off the screen and helps her get through the door. The great Oracle, the former Batgirl, being pushed around like a nursing home invalid. An exam room follows and she's beginning to feel a bit processed. No one's been mean or outright rude to her; but she can imagine this job must get to you. 

"Pants off again. Last time. The doctor has to do an exam and then you'll swallow the pill." And the medical assistant, bless her, is trying so hard to be positive and cheerful. 

"What's your name?" Barbara asks. She actually needs help getting onto the higher table and pulling her jeans off without overbalancing and rolling off. 

"Ivy," The girl answers back, and she is a girl. Probably barely out of college if she even went. She flicks one of her braids back over her shoulder and grins. "My mom has five of us. We're all named after plants." 

Barbara likes the name if not the reasoning. "Pretty," She agrees vaguely. "I can't get my legs in the stirrups." So Ivy helps her with that, too. She lies back, resting on her elbows because she down's want to be flat. There's no screaming in the building that she can hear. There aren't even loud sounds. There are, however, no windows. She has no idea what time of day it even is. Her stomach growls. 

Ivy laughs. "You and me both. I don't get a lunch break until we're done for the day." 

The doctor who arrives is old. Very old. Barbara would put him at a decade older than her father. "Hello there," He greets, pulling on a glove. He doesn't introduce himself, but Ivy doesn't seem alarmed. "Can you lift up and scoot down for me?"

"I'm a paraplegic," Barbara replies, but she's trying to work out how to do that. She knows the drill. Knows it's a brief enough process. 

But the doctor is on her before she thinks. He sticks his hand under the sterile drape and she feels the vaguest sensation of penetration before he moves away, tossing the glove in the trash can. That was it. The only kind of medical exam. The bare minimum to qualify, perhaps? Her head is still spinning as he hands her a little plastic cup with a single pill in it. Ivy provides a paper cup of water. "This is the Mifepristone. You'll take it here to block progesterone and end the pregnancy. You'll take the Misoprostol later to expel it." 

If she hadn't read before, she would have questions. As it is she swallows the pill easily and hands the cups back. Ivy throws both away. 

"You'll get four Misoprostol. Let them dissolve between your gum and your cheek. All at once, after twenty four hours but before thirty six. Bleeding should start within a couple of hours after that. Don't take aspirin for the pain." 

"Will there be a lot of pain?" Barbara asks. She's not sure what drives her to ask. She's broken bones. She's been shot, and stabbed, and burned. She's had internal injury. Surely this is nothing compared to any of that. "Should I do anything differently since I have spinal damage?"

The doctor shrugs. "It varies on the pain level. I'll prescribe you something just in case. Follow up with your regular physician if you have any more concerns but I shouldn't expect the drugs will behave any differently. Keep a trashcan close to your bed." 

She leaves with two prescriptions on little green slips of paper. Dick is on his feet nearly instantly to lift her back through the door. His normally tan face is pale with worry so she smiles at him, ignoring the tempest inside her and the way her heart is pounding. She still feels like she's caught in some bizarre, alternate universe. "Let's go."

~*~*~

They go. She fills the prescriptions and buys herself some overnight, heavy-duty pads and a hot water bottle. The pharmacist shoots them a sympathetic look as she pays and she wonders what he thinks. No doubt that they are a happily married couple. That this is a miscarriage. She's not sure if she's grateful or guilty over that. 

They stop for late lunch. Barbara's actually starving, surprisingly. "How was it?" Dick asks while he twirls about six fries in a container of ketchup. 

"Dehumanizing," She admits with a shrug. "I've had way more things in my vagina now than I ever cared to have." 

That has him laughing. She doesn't talk much more about the experience. It's still a little too raw; she's trying to process what went on. She does decide, with Dick, that she's going to do her Oracle thing tonight and he's going to do his Nightwing thing. They're going to pretend to be normal, functional vigilantes and tomorrow she's going to take the rest of her medication. 

The strange thing is, she doesn't feel any different. There's no cramps, no nausea, no anything. She feels the same as she did before. And she's absolutely thrilled to throw herself into her work. She's sure Dick is as well. She loves what she does, she loves saving the city time and time again  even if she wishes it was never in danger in the first place. Nothing has to change because of this, and there's something reassuring in that. 

Dick gets an emergency call from Bludhaven the next morning, and looks so conflicted that Barbara feels worse for him than she does for herself. "Go," She urges him with a kiss. "I can take care of this myself, okay?"

He frowns. "What if something goes wrong?"

Barbara huffs, rolling her eyes like nothing could possibly go wrong. "Come on, Boy Wonder. This is me. I have contingency plans." And she does. But to reassure him "I have Mrs. Winters down the hall who still drives and doesn't work. I have my dad. I have my friends. Hell, I have Batman if I really need him. I'm good. Go protect the city and save the world." 

He kisses her again and the hug lingers a little longer before he dashes out the door. Barbara eats a light breakfast and arranges everything she needs within reach of the bed, just in case. She ques up a few movies she's been meaning to watch and texts her dad that she thinks she might have a stomach bug and is going to take a nap. 

She changes into sweatpants and one of Dick's t-shirts. She puts on one of those thick pads that make her feel like she's wearing a diaper. Then she stuffs the pills between her gums and her cheeks, two tablets on each side, and waits. Thirty minutes of grainy, tasteless pills in her mouth isn't great, but she's done worse. And she waits. 

The fetus and gestational sac usually come away with the first clot of blood. Barbara doesn't look for them, morbid curiosity aside. She takes a painkiller. She naps on and off through the rest of the day and into evening, occasionally rousing herself to answer a few texts. 

In the evening she manages to get herself from bed to her couch and falls asleep again. By morning, it's over. There's still blood, obviously. It's like a normal period. A heavy, normal period and the cramping is a little more severe but it's still entirely manageable. She's past the point of complications, save for a secondary infection. 

"Everything good?" Dick asks anxiously when she calls him. He has to call her back on a different line; he's on Titans business because apparently that can't wait until they aren't having a personal crisis. 

"Fine," She replies. "Everything went well. Should be back online tonight." 

There's static on the line. Probably due to the distance and Barbara doesn't ask him where he is. She hopes it's still on this planet. "I'm glad. And you're doing okay? Emotionally too?"

"Honestly I feel relieved," She admits. "You?"

"Yeah." Almost shy. It makes her smile. It makes her wonder at a baby who doesn't exist that may or may not have had her smile or Dick's ability to be shy and shameless all at once. "I have to go. I'll see you soon, Babs." 

She's looking forward to it. Looking forward to picking up right where they left off. For once, the crisis is dealt with and nothing has changed.

**Author's Note:**

> Be gentle on me! 
> 
> Questions? Prompts? Requests? Drop it in the comments or [right here](http://strikeyourcolors.tumblr.com/ask).


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